Some days, I'm not the mom I want to be. There. I said it.
I love my children more than anything in this world. I would go to the ends of the earth for them, and there isn't a single thing I wouldn't do to make sure they're happy, healthy, loved, and taken care of. But loving your children and enjoying every single moment of parenting are two completely different things.
And if we're being completely transparent, some days I don't enjoy parenting.
Some days, I wake up already exhausted. Before I've even had the opportunity to drink my coffee, someone needs something, someone is arguing, someone can't find something that's probably right in front of their face, or I'm being asked the same question for the fifth time. The day hasn't even really started, and somehow my patience is already wearing thin.
Then comes the guilt.
Because these are my children. These are the little humans I'm responsible for raising, loving, teaching, and guiding through life. They didn't ask to be here, and they certainly don't deserve the frustration I sometimes carry from everything else going on around me. But I'm human, too.
I think that's something we forget about mothers. Somewhere between becoming responsible for another human being and trying to keep an entire household functioning, we're expected to have this endless supply of patience, understanding, energy, and emotional stability, and some days, I simply don't have it. There are moments when I raise my voice when I should have taken a minute to collect myself. Moments when I respond out of frustration rather than understanding. Moments when I find myself NEARLY saying things my own parents said that I swore I would never repeat, and it’s those exact moments that bother me more than I think anyone realizes.
I'm not just raising children. I'm also trying to unlearn certain behaviors, recognize my own triggers, and make sure the things I've experienced in my life don't become things my children have to recover from later. That is a lot harder than it sounds.
Something else I've been struggling with is realizing that, despite everything I try to teach my children, they're still going to make choices I don't agree with. They're going to make mistakes. They're going to test boundaries, challenge authority, say things they shouldn't, and sometimes behave in ways that leave me wondering where on earth I went wrong. I can teach kindness, respect, accountability, and empathy until I'm blue in the face, but I can't make every decision for them. That in of itself is absolutely terrifying because when your child does something wrong, it's difficult not to take it personally. I find myself questioning whether I've been too strict, too lenient, too distracted, or whether I've missed something important along the way.
Did I handle that situation correctly? Should I have listened more? Was I too harsh? Am I doing enough? The questions can become exhausting.
Oh! Then there's the part of parenting that nobody really prepares you for… trying to hold your children accountable while still making sure they know your love for them hasn't changed. I don't want my children growing up believing their mistakes define who they are., but I also refuse to raise children who believe their actions don't have consequences. Finding that balance is never easy.
I want them to understand that being sorry means more than saying the words. It means acknowledging what happened, understanding how their actions affected someone else, and making a genuine effort to do better. In all of that, I'm trying to teach them those lessons, lessons I realize I'm still learning them myself. I think that's one of the most humbling parts of motherhood. You spend so much time trying to raise good human beings that you don't always realize how often parenting forces you to confront the parts of yourself that still need work.
My children have seen me frustrated. They've seen me overwhelmed. They've probably heard me apologize more times than I care to admit. But I know they've also seen and heard me take responsibility. I hope they understand that adults make mistakes, too. That being a parent doesn't automatically make someone right. That apologizing to your children doesn't undermine your authority, and acknowledging your own shortcomings doesn't make you weak. I don't want to be the kind of parent who demands respect but refuses to demonstrate it, and I certainly don't want my children growing up afraid to tell me when I've hurt their feelings or handled something poorly.
The truth is, there are nights when I lie in bed replaying the day in my head. Thinking about the moments I could have handled differently. Wondering whether I spent enough time actually enjoying my children instead of constantly reminding them to clean something, finish something, stop arguing, or get ready for whatever comes next.
Sometimes I wonder if they notice how stressed I am. Sometimes I wonder what they'll remember about me when they're older. Will they remember the times I lost my patience? Or will they remember the times I sat with them, listened to them, laughed with them, and showed up when they needed me? Realistically, they'll probably remember some of both, and maybe that's just something I need to accept.
I'm not going to get every day right. I'm not going to respond perfectly to every situation. There will be times when I have to apologize, reevaluate my approach, and admit that I could have done better. But I also don't want to use the fact that I'm human as an excuse to stop trying. My children deserve a mother and stepmother who is willing to recognize her mistakes and work on them, not one who pretends she doesn't make any.
So yes, some days I'm not the mom I want to be. Some days I'm impatient, overwhelmed, frustrated, and questioning whether I'm doing any of this right, but every day, I'm trying. I hope that someday, when my children look back on their childhood, they won't remember a mother who was perfect.
I hope they'll remember a mother who loved them enough to keep learning how to be better.
